Page 17 of Naughty-ish

“What are you looking at?” I grumble before heading up the staircase with a kiss on my lips and confusion in my chest.

+ + +

For several days, I don’t see Nick. It’s probably better we don’t cross paths because I’m not certain how to face my neighbor after that fake date and pretend kiss, both of which felt very real.

Snow arrives and it’s in the forecast again for later this week. Nash and Eloise will be spending the upcoming weekend with Mitch, so I make a mid-week executive decision.

The kids and I are walking down the driveway between our house and Nick’s when he exits his front door.

“Hey,” he calls out.

“Hi, Nick,” Nash eagerly calls back. “Today we’re playing hooker.”

“What?” Nick stills at the top of his front steps. His gaze lands on me.

“Hooky,” I correct, coming up to Nash and covering his mouth with my hand although he’s already spilled a different word. “Like hockey, only hook-ey,” I emphasize.

“We’re going to get a real tree,” Nash adds.

After years of having a fake tree because Mitch didn’t want the mess of dropping needles and watering, I’ve decided we should start a new tradition this year. A real tree. I want the fragrance of balsam or spruce to permeate my home.

The change is another effort to find the Christmas spirit again.

Chopping down my own tree might be slightly overambitious, but I was willing to give it a try. I found a place that helps you cut if you run out of steam. So, I called into work and checked the kids out of school for the day despite the fact they will soon be home for two weeks on winter break.

“We’re going to cut it down ourselves,” Nash brags causing Nick to finally move his feet and hop down his steps before walking to the driver’s side of his truck.

“Really?” Nick says, glancing at me over the hood of my SUV.

Lifting my arm, I make a muscle inside my bulky winter jacket. “I think I can handle it.”

I shoveled my driveway yesterday, all by my big girl self.

“You can’t even cut your own grass.” Regardless of the good-natured tease in his tone, the comment hits a mark. I’ve let him take care of me too often. Grass cutting. Light hanging.

He crosses his thick arms, as he stands between his truck and my SUV, watching me. “If you give me a half hour, I can come with you. Cut the tree for you.”

“You don’t need to do that.” Refusing to look at him, I open the back passenger door of my SUV and help Nash up to his car seat. He settles in and buckles himself.

Nick opens the opposite back passenger door and helps Eloise inside. Rounding the vehicle, I double check that she’s properly buckled herself into her seat.

Nick catches the door before I close it.

“Holliday.” My name is a whisper in the cold air. The consonants and vowels rolling over his tongue, like a late-night sleigh ride over hills. There’s power in the way he’s said my name. His voice pleads, apologizes, and suggests a thousand other things I can’t hear without them being distinctly spoken.

So, I change the subject, not wanting to give hope to possibility and Nick.

“You already have a tree.” Squinting in the direction of his house, I envision the tree illuminated in his front window at night with multi-colored bulbs in contrast to the white lights on his house.

“I’d like to cut down a tree with you guys.” He hesitates. “Unless you want it to be only a family thing.”

I glance down at Eloise, who is waiting for her door to be closed.

Nash leans forward in his seat, “Can Nick come with us, Mom? Please.”

Nick and I meet eyes again. The spark I typically see is dull today. His smile is weak. He looks tired, apologetic, and sheepish. “You probably work today.”

“I’m off.” Our gaze lingers on one another. “But I’d need you guys to come with me. I have a plow job for a local business, and then we can hit up the Christmas tree farm. I know the best one. They have a reindeer and a sleigh ride. Hot chocolate, too.” His focus stays trained on me.